


Undying Flame

by Barabahad, Tafferling



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dying Light (Video Game), Persona 4
Genre: Action/Adventure, Comedy, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-03-27 21:41:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13889685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barabahad/pseuds/Barabahad, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tafferling/pseuds/Tafferling
Summary: Worlds collide, with Kyle Crane and Zofia Sirota being the first to hear about it.They embark under the guise of tracking down an undead thief. What they find instead is an Undead Knight.A crossover between Latchkey Hero and Darksoulna 4.Expect silly antics.





	1. Baby Godzilla

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tafferling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tafferling/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Latchkey Hero](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6304081) by [Tafferling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tafferling/pseuds/Tafferling). 



> I'm awful at leaving reviews on works I like. Putting into words why I like something, and taking little snippets out to comment on in particular, was never my forte. Ask me to do it for a game, I'm your man. Fic? Not so much.  
> Unlike Taff, who has graciously served as a wonderful source of support and motivation for my own main project, Darksoulna 4. 
> 
> In lieu of much-deserved positive reviews on my part, I instead decided to do something I thought we might both get a kick out of.  
> Here's hoping you get a kick out of it too, whoever you are.
> 
> If you have only half a notion as to what's going on, there's more notes at the bottom of the chapter.

“Lightning? On a bright, sunny day?” Kyle squinted in disbelief as he read over the request pinned to the corkboard for a third time. It was a far cry from 'Get me sixteen of X’ or 'Break into X to do Y’. No, it read more like a fairy tale than a request. Worse yet, it wasn't the only one. Kyle had a fistful of them clutched tightly in the hand that rested against the board proper. All of which seemed as implausible as the last.

 

Lightning striking during the day. Reports of 'balls of hellfire’ by night. Reports of a great big _something_ leaving massive fricking holes in solid asphalt.

 

Kyle's first thought was that it must've been a baby Godzilla leaving holes everywhere. It sounded about right.

 

“Sounds like bullshit. What else you got for me?” Kyle asked the board as he whipped the little scrap of paper off it, adding it to his collection of stories from Bizarro-Harran. As he ripped it off, another was pinned directly behind it. “Huh. Handy. Let's see here…”

 

Oh, goddamnit, it was another one.

 

_'The One With The Glowing Eye’._ Forget billboard notices, dude needed to be writing spooky novels instead. Maybe he had been and he'd pinned his manuscript here for safekeeping. Godforbid you use a freaking filing cabinet.

 

But the further down the page Kyle went, his face gradually began to fall. “Oh, shit.”

 

Considering it was the first time he'd sounded genuinely interested in minutes, the Paper Tiger at his side raised her head, eyebrow quirked. “What's the matter?” Zofia asked carefully.

 

“Some… glowing _thing_ going about swiping supply drops.”

 

Had Kyle not known better, he'd swear Zofia’s shoulders shrunk in disappointment. Y’know, because of the mission. Instead of him. She held back a sigh as best she could. “People scarper with drops all the time. It's probably someone running around using that stupid glow-in-the-dark paint you wear.”

 

_“Hey.”_ Kyle snapped, raising a finger at her. “First things first, my spooky skeleton paint _rocks._ And for another thing…” He paused to take another look at the request, blinking a few times as though to confirm it was real. “...they aren't taking them like this.” He imitated flicking up the latches on a shipment and opening the lid. “They're taking them like _this.”_ He squatted down before imitating _lifting the entire crate and hauling it over his shoulder._

 

...Alright, Zofia had to admit, that sounded a little suspicious. Suspicious enough that she felt it possible to mull over seriously, even if it _had_ been delivered by a grown man playing charades. It didn’t sound like biter behaviour. Even at their smartest, she was loathe to call any of them ‘smart’. Almost as much as she was loathe to call an airdrop ‘light’, because they definitely bloody weren’t. The contents alone weighed enough to make even Crane breathe a little heavier.

 

So it couldn’t have been a person. But it also couldn’t have been a biter, likely as not. So what was it?

 

Under normal circumstances, Zofia might’ve decided to simply leave it at that. One of life’s many little unknowns. What language was the Voynich manuscript written in? How were the pyramids built? Where the hell did the other sock go after you pulled its twin out of the washing machine? Zofia didn’t know and, for all but one of them, didn’t care. Even without using a washing machine, her socks kept disappearing.

 

These weren’t exactly normal circumstances. Because when asked such questions in the past, she didn’t recall having a Kyle Crane alongside her to give _that look._ Yes, _that_ one. The one he got when someone had something to do, and something in that stupid, thick, heroic head of his nodded dumbly and said ‘Yeah, I can do that!”

 

That look.

 

...He was going to drag her along too, wasn't he?

 

***

 

**O** h, bollocks.

 

The sun cast Zofia and Kyle's shadows at a shallow angle as it hung high and heavy in the sky, as though it were trying to dissuade them from going any further. Less a gentle nudge and an encouragement to go back to bed and more 'You’re chasing a fairytale, you couple of utter pillocks.’

 

You just _knew_ something was a bad idea when even the sun started telling you these things. Or you were getting heat stroke. Either way, plenty of arguments against their present course of action.

 

Certainly enough that Kyle should've stopped leading her on by now, then she'd have an excuse to stop following him like an equally mind-addled loon. “Jesus, are these people allergic to specific details or something? ‘In town’ doesn’t quite narrow down where this thing is.” He grumbled, casting his eye over the increasingly grubby scraps of paper for the umpteenth time. If there was a blemish or stain anywhere on any of them, he’d have had them all memorised by now.

 

Despite his grievances, Zofia kept a wary eye out. The everyday brand of biters didn’t stop being a threat just because one of them was hauling off airdrop boxes for whatever reason. Especially when Kyle insisted on being so _bloody loud_ on top of everything else. On ground-level, too. At least the chances of getting your throat bitten out mid-sentence were lowered the higher you went. But he simply _would not shut it._

 

...So why weren’t they finding anything? And more importantly, why wasn’t anything finding _them_ either?

 

“Shush.” Zofia said loudly enough to pierce Kyle’s cloud of bitching, stopping him mid-flow.

 

The wind brushed against a few hanging palm leaves overhead. Doors that hadn’t bothered closing squeaked on well-rusted hinges. The stench of hot, long-coagulated death hung in the air and fouled the back of both their throats.

 

“I don’t hear anything.” Kyle astutely pointed out.

 

“I know.”

 

Zofia took a quick three-sixty degree scan of her surroundings. No biters. Upon a more thorough inspection, no _corpses_ either. Now that _was_ curious. Like something had come along and thoughtfully cleaned them all up during the night. Some giant, stealthy ninja-maid with one hell of a big cleaning trolley.

 

A sudden metallic creaking noise shot a shock up Zofia’s back as she turned to find Kyle pulling himself up the side of a nearby van and shielding his eyes as he surveyed their surroundings. Give him some binoculars and a pair of shorts and he’d have looked like an oversized boy scout.

 

“...The hell?”

 

That didn’t sound good.

 

She didn’t even need to ask what he’d seen. Kyle had hopped off the van and rolled to her side with a serious look on his face.

 

“I think I might’ve spotted the problem.”

 

***

 

**A** street. An entire goddamn street from tip to toe, littered with biter corpses. Ripped in half horizontally and covering the ground like a decomposing, meaty blanket.

 

“Holy shit.” Kyle mouthed as he peeked down from the roof of the building he and Zofia had scarpered up. The street would’ve been perfectly fine, if there’d been any _street_ left to set foot on. “The hell do you think did all this?”

 

The first image it presented to Zofia was that of a bunch of biters having a motorcycle race and all getting ripped in half by the same stretch of piano wire comically suspended across the street. Only there were no bikes. Nor piano wire. Plus biters couldn’t even ride bikes, so what the hell was she even considering it for? It wasn’t even that funny to begin with.

 

A slight curl at either end of her mouth protested to the contrary. Alright, it might’ve been a _little_ funny. Just a little.

 

“I’m not sure. Perhaps someone else out there is mad enough to go swinging antique weapons about in self-defense too.” She offered, adding a small smirk to her sideways, Crane-wards glance. “You might even wind up being friends.”

 

Kyle let out an amused puff, succumbing to a grin himself. “Not sure if I like the sound of that or not, if this is their idea of fun.” He commented, peering down at the corpse-ridden street once more for good measure.

 

Good thing he did, too. Because something else stuck out to him.

 

Some of the corpses, albeit not many, were charred black, as though they’d been set on fire. But it was always one. One charred sap rubbing shoulders with his arguably-better-looking friends. Like he’d been set alight and some unfortunate circumstance had stopped it spreading further.

 

Mini-molotov, perhaps? One of those little bottles you got at the airport bar? Would that even work?

 

So engrossed was Kyle in his sudden fascination with baby molotovs (You could carry so many of them! Would a cluster molotov work? Would they be easier or harder to break?) that he barely heard the Viral’s animalistic snarls from behind until it was too late.

 

_“CRANE!”_ Zofia screamed, her bow and arrow only just trained on the viral’s center of mass as it made a beeline for Kyle. She’d have to take her chance when he grappled it. He’d shaken himself awake, spun around, instinctively brought one hand up and the other to the crowbar on his belt. But he wasn’t quick enough. The Viral closed the distance between them and--

 

Ran straight past him.

 

Scuttled down to the street, across the carpet of his undead buddies, and sprinted down a nearby alleyway.

 

Kyle and Zofia shared a double take, both blinking as if to affirm what they’d just seen was real. “Uh… Watch where you’re going?” Kyle confusedly called after the Viral. Considering it didn’t spin on a heel and dart back towards them it seemed to not have heard him. “Jeez. Wonder where the party’s at?”

 

“Wherever is loudest, I imagine.” Zofia commented.

 

“...Gotta be pretty loud if you’re going around making potholes, I’d reckon.” And pretty damn big and strong, too. Strong enough, even, to lift an entire supply drop.

 

Zofia met Kyle’s glinting, determined expression as her own paled in comparison. Alright, so maybe hunting down fairytales _hadn’t_ been the stupidest idea ever. But the only thing worse than hunting after some non-existent bedtime-story monster was running into a _very-much-existent_ one. This was, in every sense of the word, a stupid idea. Stupid, dangerous, risky, and every other possible Crane-esque word one might attribute to the situation.

 

Which explained why he quickly began clambering down the building’s side, no doubt intending to take chase after that Viral in some bizarre role-reversal setup.

 

This day couldn’t possibly get any worse.

 

“Shit, we’ve gotta haul ass after that thing!” Kyle called from the ground, broad arms outstretched and his head jutting upwards to beckon her on. He… He wasn’t really trying to suggest-? “C’mon, I’ll catch you!” A flash of teeth and a knowing quirk of his eyebrow. “It’s either that or the fleshy safety net, Fi.”

 

Zofia’s insides coiled up and began to burn. Alright, _now_ this day couldn’t possibly get worse.

 

***

 

**T** he further the intrepid duo pursued their rotting runaway, the stranger their surrounding seemed to become. There were potholes littering the streets, enough to ruin your chassis before you drove a single mile. But beyond that were things that not ever the request board had mentioned. Thick gashes, the width of Crane’s arms, gouged open the sides of neighbouring vehicles. They hopped over biter corpses with their heads messily forced down into their torsos, as if their spines had been vacuumed straight down. Worse yet, some of them had had their _everything_ forced into their _everything else,_ reducing them to fleshy pancakes left to bake on the road.

 

It might’ve passed Kyle by, doggedly sprinting after the Viral as he was, but Zofia found it bit hard to slip into hard-headed-hero mode by comparison. Mostly because _what in god’s name were they running into here?_

 

Soon after, the viral’s target came into light. Sort of. Neither of them could see it, but they certainly _felt_ it. At first, Zofia imagined it to be a burgeoning earthquake and cursed their bad fortune. Of all possible days for Mother Nature to take out a hammer and begin upturning the foundations, she _had_ to choose today. Of course. Of-bloody-course. Why the hell would anything good ever happen in Harran?

 

But the rumbles had something of a rhythm to them. Start-stop-start-stop, consistent to the second. Zofia was no seismologist, but even to her, that felt fishy.

 

Then the rumbling was joined by a distant, almighty _CRASH,_ like someone had dropped a car from one of the skyscrapers. Or, given the frequency of them, like it was raining vans and pickups.

 

Secretly, Kyle regretted joking about the whole ‘Baby Godzilla’ thing earlier. Because from the sounds and sensations quaking him to the core, it actually seemed kind of feasible now.

 

Shit, what if that meant there was a Baby-Something-Else it was fighting? A little King Kong? Prince Kong? One big motherfucker of a Biter that grew out of control somehow? Jesus, that was the last thing he needed. Something that could bite half a building away in a second flat.

 

“This… Are you sure this is a good idea?” Zofia asked tentatively. “I mean, look…”

 

She nodded her head right, drawing Kyle’s attention to the horde of Virals running alongside them, all but climbing over one another to reach the source of the noise. Whatever they were running into, they were going to have company, and lots of it. More and more virals crawled out of the woodwork with every passing second.

 

Kyle nodded dumbly. “Noted. But damnit, how could we come all this way and _not_ check this out, huh?” He tossed her a cheeky grin over his swinging biceps. “Don’t tell me you’re not even a little bit curious too.”

 

Well, he wasn’t _technically_ wrong. It was _technically_ true that she was curious. But Zofia had oft recounted to herself the sorts of things that curiosity was liable to do to cats, and she doubted it would hesitate doing the same to her or Kyle, if presented with the opportunity.

 

Then again, she _was_ still running alongside him. More the fool her, then.

 

Finally, the increasingly dense crowd of Virals coalescing into one area became too much to run with safely. Whatever they were all stampeding towards, it was on the other side of a stout block of flats. One which, if Zofia’s memory served, led to a cross-shaped intersection in the road. They’d be coming in from every bloody angle, no doubt.

 

The good news was that said block of flats made for a decent ascent roof-ward. As Kyle and Zofia climbed, the foundations rocked underneath them as the destructive crashing sounds amplified all the more. Yeah, there wasn’t any doubt. This thing was _right around the corner._ Thank God for helpful vantage spots.

 

Zofia narrowed her eyes at Kyle as he bent over and offered her a hand up. _That’s quite enough contact for you and me today, ta very much._ She said to the little Kyle in her head as she pulled herself topside, rolled onto her back and pushed herself to her feet.

 

“Alright. I think it’s about time we got to the bottom of this mystery, don’t you?” Kyle asked, sauntering over to the opposite edge of the building.

 

“One of them, anyway. What else was it you were chasing after? Hellfire, lightning, the Holy Grail, and…?” Zofia started, counting off the items on the hand with enough fingers to do so as she followed the broad of Kyle’s back.

 

He’d stopped. Practically frozen on the spot. She couldn’t see his face, but his expression was pretty clear even from behind. “I, uh… don’t think that’s gonna be an issue.” He said in a very gathering-up-his-slacked-jaw-ish manner.

 

Wow, something within the city new enough to make him go slack-jawed? There was a surprise. Zofia quirked an eyebrow and joined him at his side, taking care not to stand too close to the edge. Too little care and she’d wind up doing a concrete high-dive, as owed to the Richter-scale worth antics of the…

 

...What in the hell?

 

Her initial suspicions had been right. The cross-shaped intersection was devoid of any and all vehicles, leaving it free to be filled instead with a seemingly never-ending torrent of angry, snarling Virals, all pushing and shoving right towards the center of it, where the earth-shattering shockwaves were originating from.

 

What exactly was creating them?

 

It was a guy.

 

A guy with a really, _really_ big hammer. A guy who was switching between flattening Virals in one hit and swatting them away in mangled pieces. He swung the oversized, ironclad weapon with reckless, physics-defying abandon, at speeds -and with such force- which should have turned any normal person into an armless mess.

 

But he continued swinging all the same. He struck the asphalt beneath him, rocking the ground as he flattened another three virals in one solid hit. Then, just as it seemed he was going to be swamped from every other angle, he’d swing around and send a few more flying, sans a few limbs.

 

“Weirdo potholes, check.” Kyle said absentmindedly.

 

Among the crowd of Virals, one outlier stood among the rest, appearing atop a building on the other side of the street. Bloated, and spluttering up wet, sickening gurgles from its oversized, putrid throat. Zofia had only heard Kyle’s little names for them in passing, but he’d mentioned something about _Toads_ after one particular excursion along the Coast. ‘ _Slimy, ugly fuckers.’_ He’d said. That seemed about right.

 

The Toad’s throat bulged as it let out a moist, sickening gurgle that poked at Zofia’s gag reflex, building up a glob of acidic spit and leaning back, preparing to fire on the unsuspecting hammer-wielder below. Even above the din of the Viral’s combined screams and cries, Kyle cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted: _“HEY, LOOK--!”_

 

He’d barely spoken before his words caught in his throat. All of a sudden, the street was alight with pillars of erupting fire and the smell of burning flesh, as though a magma vein had sprouted below the hammer-wielder’s feet and singed his surroundings. Everything except him, apparently.

 

“Hellfire, double check.” Zofia said in Kyle’s place. “All that leaves is…”

 

_KSSSSH._

 

Across the street, the Toad spasmed and screamed a waterlogged scream, the translucent green bile from its throat dribbling down its front before it finally decided to keel over.

 

Neither Kyle nor Zofia saw what happened, but the flash of light in their peripheral vision and the lingering smell of ozone gave them a good idea.

 

“Lightning during the day, triple check.” Kyle muttered in disbelief, not least because whoever -or whatever- was swinging the massive chunk of metal like a man possessed was _running out of Virals to kill._ Each branch of the intersection which had previously been choc-a-block Virals had waned significantly, leaving only a scant few stragglers to run in for their inevitable demise.

 

The area surrounding Bigass-Hammer-Man looked like a fleshy donut. One clear spot of ground directly under his feet, surrounded on all sides by a knee-high wall of flattened, deformed Viral corpses. What few Virals remained vaulted over the remains of their friends, shortly before they were punted into pretzels and bent around the surrounding street lights.

 

After that tour de force, Kyle hadn’t a single doubt in his mind.

 

They _needed_ to get a closer look.

 

***

 

**F** rom ground level, and with less than half the slums surrounding him, the finer details of the Human Meat Tenderizer came into show as Kyle carefully made his way towards him, followed by a cautious Zofia who peeked around his back, studying the man carefully.

 

Well… she _thought_ he was a man, anyway. The closer they got, the more the needle flipped towards _boy_ instead.

 

Even then, it was hard to tell. He was an utter mess. His slacks, formerly black, were stained with blood and viscera up to his knees. Around his torso, the remains of what had formerly been a blue coat barely hung onto his surprisingly lean frame. It was less of a coat and more of a tattered, torn cloak with sleeves.

 

Kyle focused less on him and more on what he was seemingly protecting. A familiar shade of orange came into view off to the boy’s side, as owed to an air-supply crate which looked to have seen better days. It was dented on all sides, and covered in blood spatters from the dwindling brawl.

 

He fit the entire bill. It seemed like all the Tower’s fairy-tales were prone to a bit of plagiarism, because they all featured the same monster.

 

A monster who drove his hammer into the ground as he pinned his final Viral under the head. He brought his hands to the grip, leaned his forehead against it, and panted like he’d never tasted air before. Hoarse, dry heaves tried their damnedest to fill his lungs. Given how he didn’t even acknowledge Zofia and Kyle’s approach, it was fair to say their damnedest left something to be desired.

 

Now. What to say to… whatever this kid classed as? Where to even begin?

 

Kyle Crane, eternal people-person, had an idea. “Yo! You feelin’ alright?” He asked the obviously less-than-alright fellow.

 

The kid shifted his head, his messy black hair shifting out of the way to allow one of his dull orange eyes to peek out underneath. At first, he only continued to pant. Had he not just fended off an entire horde of Virals singlehandedly, Zofia might’ve presumed he was being rude.

 

Finally, the boy closed his eyes and gave them both a tired smile. “Thank the Gods… Humans at last.” He said, in an accent not far off of Zofia’s own.

 

He brought a hand down to wipe the blinding sweat from his brow, and only then did Zofia notice it. The reason his left sleeve was far more tattered than the right.

 

Bite marks. Outnumbered only by the outright _bites._ When the tattered fabric shifted the right way, she swore that she caught a glimpse of _bone_ nestled within, outlined by messy, bleeding tears and teeth marks.

 

Kyle must have taken note too, because his hand went to his crowbar on instinct. He’d never seen how those massive, rebar-club wielding biters first turned, but he imagined it started a lot like this. “If I may…” The boy began, straightening his back as he wiped the blood from his face. “...Might I ask you both your names?”

 

…

 

For real?

 

This kid was standing there, a ticking time-bomb ready to lose his mind and become a Biter, and he wanted their _names?_ He didn’t even sound concerned about it! He’d have to have been _made_ from adrenaline to not notice his injuries, for crying out loud! Who the hell was--

 

“Wait.” The boy said, raising a calloused, bruised palm as his head darted up. He turned to glare down one of the intersection’s branching roads, meeting eyes with yet another lumbering, muscular pile of undead fury, wrapped up in riot gear that its upper torso had long since outgrown. A Demolisher. Like either Kyle or Zofia could forget.

 

Before Kyle could slip his Crowbar free and prepare to play David and Goliath, their new, bloodied acquaintance moved first. He hopped over his trench of flattened Virals- “What is it going to take...” -reached for the airdrop crate, clutching one of the handles at the side- “...before you and your shambling brood…”  -and dragged the crate behind him, as thought it weighed nothing it all. The Demolisher leveled an oversized arm at the tattered boy and his crate. There would be no contest. It was over. He’d fought a good fight, but he was no immovable object. Not when the unstoppable force barreled towards him with a roar, hitting full speed and--

 

_“...Get out of the way and let me do my job?!”_ The boy finally roared back.

 

In one motion, the crate went skyward. The boy had abandoned his hammer, putting both hands to the crate and blotting out the sun as he swung it in an arc over his head, his face twisted into a visage of unstoppable fury. In a move far too quick and far too powerful to have been humanly possible, he brought the mighty box down and pummeled the Demolisher overhead, crushing it to a pulp and bringing its charge to an immediate, sudden halt.

 

The shock from that one hit nearly spilled Kyle and Zofia’s eyeballs from their skulls, but it didn’t help their jaws any. They both stood dumbfounded, watching in what looked like slow motion as the Demolisher was reduced to little more than a mangled, deformed corpse with an airdrop crate embedded in it.

 

Hands falling to his side, the boy let out another gasp for air. “Oh… how rude of me… I almost forgot.” His haggard voice croaked. He raised his head properly, turning to face his stunned audience of two.

 

His face was scratched and scarred, bleeding in far too many places. His pale skin throbbed a pained red all over. But that wasn’t the biggest draw.

 

That would’ve been the umbral, pitch-black hole in his left iris, bordered by a thin line of minuscule, gently flowing flames.

 

“I am Knight Astaire, an adherent of the Lord of Sunlight.” The Man With The Glowing Eye announced proudly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, time for a little glossary of details for those who don't want to sit through a several-hour-long anime/game and don't want to subject themselves to Dark Souls proper. 
> 
> Astaire - Knight Astaire is one of the main characters of my main project, Darksoulna 4. He's a knight from the inhospitable world of Dark Souls, who is essentially stuck in a time loop, forced to get stronger and stronger until something plot-related breaks him out of it. Which it eventually does. After 18 cycles. So he's pretty strong. 
> 
> Hellfire and Lightning - Being what amounts to the player character of Dark Souls given a face, and having seemingly infinite time to hone his skills, he's able to use most of the powers available to the player in-game. This includes Pyromancy, the art of conjuring fire from one's hand, and Miracles, a different branch of magic. In this specific case, Lightning Spear, which lets him Zeus motherfuckers from afar. 
> 
> Weird Iris-Hole thing - The Darksign, a brand carried by the player character of Dark Souls. It's never confirmed where the brand actually is on the body, if it indeed is on there at all, but I like the idea of it scarring the inside of the eye. 
> 
> What are the implications of having a Darksign? Well, if you play Dark Souls, you likely already know. If you don't, it's gonna get covered soon, never fret.


	2. Junior

**A** nd lo, there he stood, at the head of his felled foe, crushed in one strike. The remains of his coat fluttered in the wind, the flame within his eye flowing gently along with it. His chest rose and fell as he--

 

 _“AGH!”_ The self-appointed 'Knight’ cried out as a new viral drew up from behind him and sunk its teeth into his neck. “What part of _'Let me do my job’_ was lost on you?!” He shouted at it, whipping an arm around and crushing his rotting assailant’s shoulders together, gathering enough of a grip to force them down onto the ground entirely. “Gods, you're a persistent lot.”

 

He said while crushing a zombie in his bitten, mangled arm. With part of his neck gone.

 

What in the hell _was_ this kid? Excluding _fucking weird,_ because that much was already obvious.

 

A question Kyle asked about ten times to himself before the young man strode towards him, hand outstretched. “You haven't the foggiest idea how glad I am to see you! Finally, someone sane!” He said, smiling broadly. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Mister…?”

 

“Do me a favour.” Kyle said.

 

Knight Astaire tilted his head, eyebrow quirked. “That’s a bit of a mouthful. Do you have a nickname of some sort?”

 

“Wuh-? No, I mean _literally_ do me a favour.”

 

Astaire quirked his eyebrow higher. “I mean, that's certainly easier to manage, but I prefer surnames where I can--”

 

 _“Would you take that fucking thing off your neck?!”_ Kyle gave up and yelled, pointing to the disembodied head of the biter who Astaire had assaulted, now gnawing contentedly on his neck with what little life remained in it.

 

Astaire felt around for it, widened his eyes as his fingers met flesh, then ripped his neck-bound companion off with the grace of an elephant performing ballet. It took a hunk of his jugular with him for good measure, which somehow failed to get even a blink out of the knight before he flattened it underfoot.

 

No, seriously, what the hell _was_ this kid?

 

Kyle felt a boney elbow prod him in the back. “Has he turned yet?” Zofia asked quietly, adjusting her grip on her bow in case she quickly needed to level it at the mutilated knight’s head.

 

The answer should’ve been simple. Kid looked like swiss cheese that a mouse had already got to. And yet, as he stood and calmly brushed bits of flesh and teeth off his shoulders, the obvious answer eluded them both. “No. To be honest…” Kyle paused, watching Astaire’s hands and face closely _just in case_ he was proven wrong. But he watched for quite a while. “...I don’t think he’s gonna, either.”

 

Kyle grunted as a harder boney elbow nearly snapped his spine in two. Zofia’s voice hitched a tone, clearly from disbelief as she peeked around his back. _“He’s missing his bloody throat!_ How can he _not_ be turned already?!”

 

“Why the hell do you think _I’m_ gonna know?! I’ve known him just as long as you have!” Kyle pointed out, reaching a point where trying to whisper and keep things private was quickly becoming redundant. “Oh, to hell with this. Hey, Knight Kid!” Kyle called over, turning in time to miss Zofia snap back behind his back, sensing the incoming idiocy. “Why ain’t you a biter yet?!”

 

Smooth, Kyle. Smooth as melted butter. _“Muppet.”_ Zofia whispered behind him, shaking her head.

 

Again, Kyle’s mind was blown as a look of confusion crossed Astaire’s face. He mouthed the word ‘ _Biter?’_ silently, biting his lip and tapping a foot in thought.

 

No fucking way. How the hell could he not know what Biters were? He just flatpacked half a block’s worth of them, enough to make an Ikea spokesperson tremble at the knees! What part of Harran- no, what part of the _world_ could he _possibly_ be from to not have gotten the memo?

 

Better late than never, the memo seemed to drop. Astaire’s eyes flitted to one of the Biters he’d decimated and lit up. “Ah, the Hollows! Is that you humans’ name for them? Biters?” Astaire lightly poked at one of the fleshy speedbumps he’d created, a sticky trail of… something _dead_ sticking to the end of his shoe. “They _do_ seem a bit different from the usual Undead sort I’m better acquainted with. Not as well equipped, that’s for certain. Much easier killed, too.”

 

Finally, he strode over to Kyle -who flinched at the sight of the poor kid’s internal organs getting a tan- and tapped the left side of his head. “Thankfully, it appears one can only be one _type_ of Undead at a time. Evidently, the Darksign is both a blessing _and_ a curse in this world. How fortuitous.”

 

Hollows? Undead? Darksign?

 

Finally, Kyle threw up his hands. That’s it. Clocking out. There was too much weird bullshit coming out of the kid’s mouth for him to make sense of, so he wasn’t even going to try. It was like talking to a vending machine full of questions, except instead of spitting out any kind of answers, it dispensed three more questions and told you to go fuck yourself.

 

So screw it! Weird shit was on the menu today, and Kyle had just signed himself and Zofia up for a three course meal. Time to roll with it.

 

“Right, you know what? Super. Just rosy. Good for you, kid.” Kyle said, shooting Astaire a thumbs up. “Whatever the hell you’re up to, good luck. But we _really_ need that airdrop.” Another confused look. Goddamnit. “The frickin’ thing you embedded in that big guy. We need it.”

 

“Sorry, but I can’t do that.” Astaire quickly replied as he backed off towards the aforementioned airdrop crate, grabbing one of the handles on the side firmly before he messily wrenched it free of the Demolisher’s corpse. A well-defined, rectangular impression of the impact was left in its wake. “As I said before, I have a job to do. I really must be on my way.”

 

And on his way he went, resting his Greathammer on his shoulder as he sluggishly dragged the crate behind him.

 

Pffft. Like it was gonna be _that_ easy. “Look, I get that you’re… _very clearly_ not from ‘round here...” Kyle began as he jogged up to Astaire’s side, staggering back as he pancaked a wayward Biter mercilessly. “...but there are a whole lot of people back at the Tower who could use the stuff in there. I mean…” He paused, casting another glance at the innumerable wounds around Astaire’s body. “...Ain’t like _you’re_ the one usin’ ‘em.”

 

“Of course I’m not using them. They’re not for me.” Astaire said simply, rounding up for another hit as three more biters shambled out of a side alley and made a beeline for him.

 

“Who _are_ they for, then?” Zofia asked, having only chased down Kyle’s back a second earlier.

 

“Ms. Kujikawa, of course.” Astaire said matter-of-factly.

 

***

 

 **T** here was little doubt in Zofia’s mind that if their new acquaintance hadn’t possessed his strange immunity to the Harran Virus, he’d have been dead long before they ever got a chance to meet him. And it wasn’t just because he was slowly becoming more skeleton and less boy by the minute.

 

It was because of a familiar flavour of bravado. One which she felt very keenly aware of, looking at him now.

 

“So she’s your girlfriend.” Kyle said for the fourth time.

 

 _“She is nothing of the sort!”_ Astaire said for the fifth, rising in volume each time.

 

‘Ms. Kujikawa’, as he’d called her, was a girl. Someone he’d apparently come to Harran with, although Zofia felt it remiss to say she understood _how._ Something to do with a _world inside a television_ , and something else to do with _time and space fading in and out._ Might’ve made for a decent Star Trek episode, but it didn’t serve quite as well as someone’s _actual_ background.

 

In any case, a girl he’d come to Harran with. His ‘charge’, as he continually put it. A term which Kyle was finding new and interesting ways to twist into ‘girlfriend’ with every passing minute. Which wouldn’t have been amusing him as much if Astaire hadn’t reacted exactly the way he did.

 

“So you don’t _dis_ like her.”

 

_THWACK. “URYYAAAA!”_

 

“And the two of you share a room together.”

 

_SPLAT. “GYAAAA!”_

 

“And you’re crossing this Biter-infested hellhole just to try and rescue her.”

 

_CRUNCH. “KEEEEEH!”_

 

“Yeah, nah, she’s totally your girlfriend.” Kyle grinned teasingly.

 

“ _No she bloody well isn't!”_ Astaire insisted all the harder as his face glowed red. He punted yet another Biter off the side of the motorway, left to scream and spiral off into the distance, landing a good few blocks away.

 

Kyle let out a whistle as he watched the latest victim take flight. “Nice swing. You golf much?” He asked. “Props for cutting out the middleman, but I kinda prefer hitting _balls_ into Biters myself.” He continued, handily ignoring the fact that Astaire was only hitting them so far because he was being such a tosspot in the first place.

Still, Zofia remained firm in her assessment. Some might’ve called this whole going-to-rescue-the-damsel thing brave. Heroic, even. But it had distinct undertones of _stupidity,_ too. Hard-headed, mount-the-charge stupidity. The seemingly insurmountable ability to _never_ know any better.

 

She watched Astaire and Crane’s back-and-forth from behind, arguing in circles.

 

Many more types like the two of them and she’d need to give the condition a name. She already had a pretty consistent list of symptoms building up. ‘Crane’s Syndrome’ had a nice ring to it.

 

Whenever the Biters started passing the 400-yard mark on Astaire’s enviable golf swings, she noticed that Crane seemed to quiet down a touch. Goodness, it seemed even _he_ was capable of taking a hint when he needed to. Would wonders never cease?

 

Seeing as he was one step away from getting an express flight ticket back to the Tower (Hand luggage such as arms, legs and other extremities not permitted) Zofia stepped up to the plate. “This girlf--” She bit her tongue as Astaire’s head shot around to launch her a glare, sharper and colder than a dagger in an icebox. Zofia chose to blame Kyle for getting it stuck in her head and backed up. “...This _charge_ of yours.” That settled him. “Where is she, exactly?”

 

“Haven’t the foggiest.” He said ever-so-casually, beating a wayward biter into the side of a bus.

 

Zofia blinked. “You’re looking for one girl in all of Harran without any clue where she is.”

 

“That’s roughly what ‘Haven’t the foggiest’ equates to, yes.” Astaire said, again, as casually as could be.

 

Zofia massaged the bridge of her nose. She’d long since had her fill of people barely out their teens doing stupid, stupid, _stupid_ things and then some. She could only thank her lucky stars that this one wasn’t playing with plastic explosives, at least. He was certainly getting bit far more often.

 

Taking note of the way she was squinting at their half-eaten acquaintance, Kyle leaned down to her level and squinted alongside her. Maybe he’d glean what she was eyeballing from a lower angle. Or he would’ve, if Zofia hadn’t noticed what he was doing and swatted him back to full height. “Mind tellin’ me what’s so damn interesting?” He asked, rubbing his newly-swatted nose.

 

In lieu of answering, Zofia glanced between Kyle and Astaire a few times, squinting all the harder. “Just doing some maths, is all.”

 

...Well _that_ was helpful. “On _what?_ How much longer ‘till these biters start leaving orbit?” Kyle rolled his eyes as he popped the top off the canteen he’d detached from his waist, gulping greedily.

 

Zofia shook her head and glanced between the two of them again. “Trying to guess whether you could have had a child around…” She squinted as her eyes scanned up and down Astaire’s body. “...twenty-ish years ago.”

 

Her lips couldn’t help but curl cheekily at the sound of Kyle choking on his own water. He sounded so much like a Toad that even Astaire whipped around to face him, eyeing him up carefully to check if his throat was bloating or his spit turning to poison.

 

A few hacking coughs later and Kyle was in fit enough shape to eyeball her back. “Screw you, I’m not _that_ old.”

 

“Are you sure? He seems like a chip off the old block, if you ask me.”

 

“Well he ain’t a chip off _mine.”_ Kyle huffed, snorting as he realised how much water had annoyingly flooded his nose. “Anyway, kid--”

 

“Haven’t I told you to call me ‘Astaire’ several times by now?” Astaire asked, letting his hammer drop as he stretched the aches and pains out of his surprisingly intact back.

 

“Only as many times as I’ve told you to drop that ‘Mr. Crane’ shit, and that ain’t happening either.” Kyle retorted with a frown. Damn kid was _trying_ to make him feel old, he knew it. “Wai-- Forget that for a minute! I don’t care how much of a freaky lich bastard you are, you can’t just wander around the whole of Harran like a headless Biter after one girl!”

 

In the midst of stretching what remained of his shoulders, Astaire raised an eyebrow. “Whyever do you think that?”

 

...Yeah, Fi was full of crap. No way _he_ was that stupid. “Oh, just you wait. Lemme see here…” He flicked open an invisible notebook and took an invisible pencil out from behind his ear, all the while ignoring Zofia visibly rolling her eyes next to him as he worked down his invisible list. “You could be going the complete wrong way, you could be in completely different parts of the city, if she’s even _in_ the city to begin with… Shit, kid, you don’t even know if she’s alive to begin with!”

 

“No, she’s alive.” Astaire said very matter-of-factly.

 

Blinking and adjusting his invisible glasses as he crosschecked his invisible notebook and flicked through its pages, Kyle at last stopped when he came to one conclusion. “Bullshit. You don’t know that. You couldn’t know that.”

 

As much as Zofia wanted to agree with him, and partially _did,_ nobody answered that confidently to something they weren’t completely assured of. Either that or he was just so young and dumb that he’d even tricked himself into believing it. “You sound awfully confident for someone who just admitted they’re clueless. Without a radio, I don’t see how--”

 

“It’s a simple matter, really.” Astaire began, dropping the supply crate and perching himself on top of it, crossing his mangled legs and rubbing his chin with what few fingers weren’t bleeding and blistered. “You see, she told me herself that she was alright. Without a… radio, was it?” Kyle nodded out of curiosity, born both from his burgeoning explanation and him not knowing what the hell a radio was. “Right, right, without a radio. I’m not sure how, but she was able to use her powers in this world to occasionally communicate with me. Where she and I come from, such power is known as a Per-”

 

Up came Kyle’s finger. “Woah, woah, time out.” He commanded, letting silence fall, save for a slight buzzing sound coming from somewhere on Kyle. “Shit, where did I…?” He asked himself, patting down his myriad pockets in a frantic dance to find where he’d left his radio. Finally, he brightened up as he quickly plucked the device from his pocket and put it to his ear. “You’ve reached the office of Kyle Crane, how may I direct your call?”

 

The sound of a familiar young man’s voice on the other end of the line brought the radio to life. “Crane! Crane, it’s Troy!”

 

“No, I’m pretty sure it’s Rahim.” Kyle said bluntly, tilting his head. “You’d better not be ringing me just to try out your crappy impersonations.”

 

The sound of Rahim’s frustrated groans from the Tower got an amused puff from Zofia. _‘Yeah, he does that to me too.’_ She wanted to say. Maybe just not in front of him.

 

Groaned out, Rahim explained, “No, it’s- Troy left a message for me to pass on to you. Something about you _‘being the man responsible for any weird shit that happens’_ or something.”

 

“Hey! I resent that, even if it’s kinda true!” Kyle scowled, pointing at the air in front of him.

 

Astaire gave Zofia an odd look, which she interpreted to mean _‘He knows that whoever he’s speaking to can’t see him do that, right?’_ She simply nodded in response, which only made him look all the more confused to boot.

 

“More importantly, why ain’t Troy telling me this herself? Ain’t like the radios are down now.” Kyle asked, before a grim image flashed briefly into his mind. “...Tell me it isn’t trouble, Rahim. Fuck, I’ll beg if I have to.”

 

A crackling, electronic chuckle. “No need, Crane. She’s just busy taking care of the thing they found, she said her hands were tied.”

 

That furrowed Kyle’s brow. “Define ‘thing”.

 

“I think she said they found a girl.”

 

No way. He had to be joking.  

 

“A girl doing... “ The sound of crinkling paper being flattened against a desk interrupted Rahim’s voice momentarily. “...’some really weird shit’. Her exact words. Didn’t get much more out of her than that.”

 

Kyle turned and shot an amused look at Astaire, who seemed to shift into high alert in response. “A girl doing weird shit, huh?” And then seemed to shift out of high alert as his eyes lit up with hope. “Funny you should mention that. I think I just found her boyfriend right here.”

 

Rahim only got to listen as far as _“She is NOT my gir-!”_ before Kyle’s end of the line cut off.

  


***

 

 **W** ell shit. As crazy as the situation was, it seemed the craziest person in it _hadn’t_ been crazy at all. It was still beyond their understanding exactly _how_ the seemingly-unkillable heroic bulldozer and his apparently telepathic charge had come to Harran in the first place, but they were here all the same.

 

A fact which Zofia soon realised wasn’t exactly a good one. For a number of reasons. Starting with the moment directly after Kyle informed Astaire that his bonnie lass was in safe, familiar hands.

 

Her worries multiplied tenfold the moment he got on his knees and pressed his dishevelled head to the ground at Kyle’s feet.

 

“Please! I implore you to guide me to her!” Astaire shouted, clasping his hands firmly together. “I shall do whatever you ask! Your wish is my command!”

 

Until he’d added the last part, Zofia had never seen Kyle look so uncomfortable before. How the hell was _anyone_ supposed to react to someone kowtowing to them and begging them so insistently? He’d tried to shy away from the kid, only he’d scooted forward before he could get very far. He was an insistent one, that was for sure.

 

But now? “Whatever I ask, huh?” Came from the burgeoning grin on Kyle’s lips as he crossed his arms in thought. “Hoo, let me think…”

 

Zofia couldn’t help but bore a few more holes in Astaire’s back as she glared at him. That idiot! It was bad enough asking Kyle Crane for help, because there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that he’d say no, even under normal circumstances! But telling him something like that? It was like dangling the shiniest of shiny objects under a magpie’s nest!

 

“Alright, I think I got something.” Kyle said at last. He glanced down and jabbed Astaire’s shoulder with his toe. “C’mon kid, face to face. Don’t make me come down there.”

 

In a flash, Astaire was on his feet, his back as straight as an arrow, as though Kyle had suddenly morphed into a drill sergeant and he was a hapless trainee soldier. “Yes, Mr. Crane, sir!”

 

Kyle frowned. Christ, now he was getting _‘sir’_ too? Frickin’ kid had better hope this didn’t turn his hair grey, or there’d be trouble. Nevertheless, he shook himself into focus again. “Right, here’s the deal. Fi and myself show you the way to Troy’s place so you can meet up with your girlfriend.”

 

“Alright, stop that already.” Zofia snapped at him. Astaire went bright red as sweat poured down his rigidly scowling face and his eyes threatened to pop out and break Kyle’s jaw for him. She wasn’t sure who to feel sorrier for, Astaire for signing himself up for more of _exactly this_ , or Kyle for prodding a sleeping lion who even death didn’t seem to want.

 

 _“_ In exchange!” Kyle moved on quickly, not wanting to become a human golf ball. “You hand us over that supply crate when we get there.” Zofia sighed in relief. That actually sounded reasonable, coming from-- “Also you gotta help us loot some stuff on the way. Like, anything I point at. And teach me how you do that fire-throwing thing.”

 

Goddamnit. “Muppet.” She mumbled.

 

“I accept!” Astaire belted out without hesitation.

 

God-double-damnit. He could at least stand to _think_ about it a little. That sounded like a hell of a lot to go through for one girl, even without having to beckon to Kyle Crane’s every command. Judging from that stupid look of determination on his face, the thought had never even crossed his mind.

 

...But there was something about his adamance that _did_ warm her heart a little, and not just because he was evidently cut from whatever godforsaken cloth Kyle Crane had been taken from.

 

Muppet and Muppet Junior firmly clasped hands, then both turned to look expectantly at Zofia, who glared back before realising she was fighting a losing battle. With some resignation, she placed her hand atop theirs -although really it was more Kyle’s, given he was less dead- and the three shook on the matter.

 

The deal was done. No turning back now.

 

Taking a deep breath, (though without a throat it was hard to say how much good it did him,) Astaire hauled his Greathammer over his shoulder and took a firm grasp of the supply crate. “Right then! Let us sally forth!” He roared, newly filled with an optimistic vigor.

 

“Actually, you might want to start sallying back-th first. Old Town’s thataway.” Kyle said, pointing down to the other end of the overpass Astaire had gone to the trouble of clearing.

 

Zofia and Astaire both sighed in chorus.

 

Godforbid an adventure start off on the right foot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, it's glossary time! 
> 
> Undeath and Hollows - The affliction which ails every main character in the Dark Souls games. Being Undead prevents you from every truly dying, as you'll simply rise again with a little less humanity than you had before. Undead who lose their minds lose their humanity and devolve into mindless, zombie-like monsters called Hollows, who kill anything on sight without mercy.  
> Being Undead also seems to give the player some fucking crazy durability, if feats in the game are anything to go by. As often as one may die in Dark Souls, it can often take a surprising amount of effort to off someone in the first place.
> 
> Darksign - the Darksign is the mark which confirms someone's an Undead in the first place. 
> 
> Ms. Kujikawa - Rise Kujikawa, a member of the main cast from Persona 4 and the heroine of my other project. She's an idol with many talents, and under normal circumstances, Astaire acts as her otherworldly bodyguard.  
> Also, as he mentions, she's totally NOT his girlfriend. Totally not. Let nobody tell you otherwise. 
> 
> Persona - The power to manifest one's inner self as another entity which is capable of fending off whatever threats may accost the user, with a few exceptions. Rise is one of the few whose Persona possesses no combat capabilities. Instead, she can act as the ultimate combat support, possessing a range of helpful abilities, which includes being able to communicate from long distances. Hence why Astaire is as chill as he is for the time being.


	3. A Brief Respite

**I** n theory, everything should have been fine, as far as Kyle saw it.

 

Kyle Crane, Harran’s best-looking slayer of all things gross and bitey, teamed up with some weirdo unkillable kid with a bigass hammer and his friendly neighbourhood arrow-firing GPS? A clear sense of direction and double the manpower needed to get there? Christ, it sounded like a walk in the park. Almost made him wish he’d made a picnic basket up beforehand.

 

Then they’d _actually_ set out.

 

Come to think of it, neither Kyle nor Zofia had asked Astaire why exactly all those Virals had been out for his blood in the first place.

 

“For God’s sake, would you _stop that?!”_ Zofia screeched manically as she sprinted off the street proper, vaulting over a spiked blockable before peeping back over it, bow drawn and trained on the throng of Virals galloping down the street behind them.

 

“And do what instead?!” Astaire bellowed back, pounding his Greathammer into the ground and pinning a Viral underneath, the sound of metal on concrete ringing the ears of everyone present. “Let them strip me to the bone?! Even _I_ have my limits where damage is concerned, Ms. Sirota!”

 

...Wow, Kyle was right. That _did_ make her feel old.

 

The second hit from the Greathammer rung even louder, as though it were a combination alarm clock and lunch bell for every viral in the city and beyond. Given that turning faces inside out with a crowbar wasn’t easy at the best of times, suffice to say Kyle wasn’t best pleased. “I swear kid, if you don’t do something to cut that bullshit out, I’ll take that hammer and cram it up your--!”

 

_CRASH._

 

“Oh, bugger.” Astaire said sadly.

 

Couldn’t blame him, Kyle wouldn’t have wanted that hammer near any orifice of his, much less where it was _going_ to be going when…

 

Kyle turned to throttle Astaire before his eyes fell on what had saddened him so. “...I mean, that works.” The head of the Greathammer was becoming very good friends with gravity, where the shaft it was _supposed_ to be solidly attached to wasn’t. In short, it was FUBAR’d, a good thirty degree angle between handle and head.

 

“What a pity. I was really beginning to take a liking to this, too…” Astaire lamented, giving the handle a wistful wave and turning the head into a pendulum.

 

His sadness was such that he seemed to have forgotten that he actually needed it. From the shadows, Zofia climbed out and tried to shake the pain out of her dominant hand, her two fingers bruised on the verge of bloodied. “No worries, never mind me, just busy keeping you off imminent shambling duty, nothing major.” She grumbled, mostly at Kyle, as she went to retrieve the volley of arrows she’d downed half the street with.

 

Keen to let her have her fun, Kyle scratched the back of his head as he looked at the Greathammer’s sorry state. “Welp. Don’t suppose you’ve got any other big i’m-right-here-please-come-and-eat-me type weapons on hand, do you? Pirate cannon? Big Ben tucked away somewhere in that coat of yours?”

 

Astaire glared at him. “Jibber all you like, but this is the third such weapon I’ve gone through since arriving here, and I’m without a measure to repair them with.” He said, regretfully casting his used hammer aside among the rest of the scrap and gore. “At this rate, I may actually risk running out of arms.”

 

“You don’t say.” Zofia said to Astaire’s exposed bone from afar.

 

“Kid. Kid, kid, kid. Kid.” Kyle began, putting a beefy arm around Astaire’s tattered and torn shoulders, pulling him in closer. “You seem to be a little confused. I’m not sure how you fix shit back in Camelot, but we have other means here in Harran. The type of stuff that can fix _anything.”_

 

Oh criminy. Zofia rolled her eyes as she picked up her last arrow and got to her feet. She cleared her throat and put on her ‘look at me I’m Kyle Crane and I’m a big broad pillock’ voice before predicting Kyle’s next line to the letter.

 

“You ever heard of duct tape?”

“You ever heard of duct tape?”

 

The confused blinking and his looks between the two of them seemed to say that no, the kid had not heard of duct tape. “Beg pardon?”

 

His answer hit Kyle like holy water might’ve hit Satan’s balls. He recoiled, eyes wide in shock, staggering backwards in a state of dazed disbelief. “You’re shitting me.”

 

“I can assure you I’m not.” Astaire said, trying desperately not to imagine the logistic behind shitting someone.

 

Seeing as her internal geiger counter for stupidity was ticking away at a quadruple-digit BPM, Zofia decided to step in before things got any worse. “It’s a roll of rather strong adhesive stuff. You can use it--”

 

“--to fix _anything!”_ Kyle enthused, notsomuch re-entering the conversation as much as kicking the fucking door down like a child whose blood was entirely replaced with sugar. “It can fix guns, machetes, hatchets, crowbars… Shit, it could probably do a number on that arm of yours! If duct tape don’t fix it, you ain’t using enough of it.”

 

Kyle Crane. GRE Agent, Biter Slayer en masse, and apparently a duct tape salesman in a previous life. Zofia couldn’t help but contain a snort. Too bad his hair wasn’t long enough for a comb-over to complete the look.

 

Even lacking a tacky suit and greasy hair, Kyle had worked his magic successfully. Astaire’s face was lit up in wonder. “Do you know where I might happen upon some of this ‘duct tape’?” He asked excitedly.

 

His excitement only seemed to add to Crane’s own, as he replied colourfully, “I know a guy who sells shitloads of it at a safehouse not too far from here! We should hole up there and get fixed up before we move on!”

 

“Please calm down.” Zofia tried, and failed, to say to Kyle.

 

“Fantastic! Lead the way, Mr. Cr--!” Astaire began with a flourish, lifting his broken greathammer towards the horizon. He stopped as the head of the hammer suddenly detached mid-flourish and went soaring into the distance. It sailed in an arc through the air before plummeting down and punching a hole through the concrete, the impact like a small earthquake underfoot.

 

Kyle face went blank.

 

Zofia shook her head and massaged the bridge of her nose.

 

“...Sorry.”

 

From afar, the sound of every viral they _hadn’t_ already killed being rudely awoken filled the air.

 

“If we get here alive, I’m gonna hogtie you with that goddamn tape and shove you inside that drop crate of yours.” Kyle groaned, palming his crowbar as he led the escape and sprinted off.

 

***

 

 **_B_ ** _ang bang bang._ Still no reply. Another three bangs. Still nothing. “You’re going to bloody your knuckles if you keep at that.” Zofia pointed out. “Maybe he’s busy right--”

 

 _BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG--_ The annoyed frown Kyle was wearing stiffened all the more as he kept rapping his fist off the thick metal gate of the safehouse. Not because it hurt, but because the _one time_ he needed the goddamn gate opened, where was he? Probably off counting his cash or wiping his ass with it, he certainly had enough of it by now.

 

Finally, a “Piss off, ya rottin’ drongo bastard!” came from the other side of the gate.

 

Evidently not the welcome Kyle was expecting. “I’m gonna _be_ pissed off if you don’t open this damn gate!” He cried, trying to shake the pain out of his knuckles. “C’mon, we’re haulin’ a heavy load here, quit being an asshole!”

 

Whoever the manic-sounding Australian on the other side of the door was, he paused. “Crane? That you? I thought you’d up an’ died on me already! You still scurryin’ around with that pom of yours?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, Fi’s here too, just let us in already!”

 

The sound of chains rattling, bolts shifting and locks turning came from the other side of the door, for long enough that it was a wonder one door could support that many. After far, _far_ too long, the gate slid away, revealing the face of a scrawny, badly-sunburnt Australian man who poked out from behind it, big aviators and gaudy Hawaiian shirt all accounted for.

 

“Righto, what’s this heavy load of-- ” The Australian man stopped on the dot. Something wasn’t right.

 

Big guy with deep pockets. Uh-huh.

 

Pom who liked buying a lot of arrows a lot of the time. Right.

 

Half-rotten biter carrying a supply crate.

 

 _“JESUS, MARY AND JOSEPH!”_ The rest of the Australian man leapt out from behind the door, namely, the half which had been carrying his shotgun about. With well-practiced precision he brought the barrel up and unloaded a shot directly into the biter’s chest, punching a gory hole clean through it as Zofia let out a shocked squeal.

 

Astaire looked down and examined his new orifice, slipping his hand past his spine at the back and bringing it back out the front again. “...Ow.” He settled on. “I felt that.”

 

Zofia carefully glanced at his back, where several pellets from the shotgun had embedded themselves in his vertebrae. “Can’t imagine why.”

 

Kyle forced the shotgun’s barrel down before shoving his Australian acquaintance back inside, glaring daggers. “He’s the one carrying our heavy load, you heat-stroked dumbass. Put it away.”

 

“You’re bringing a bloody biter into my compound?!” He spat back.

 

“He ain’t a biter.”

 

“Well what in flamin’ Nora is he then?!”

 

Kyle glanced over his shoulder, watching as Astaire casually carried the crate inside, an orange streak flowing behind him from his eye as he walked, completely ignoring the hole in his chest.

 

“...I’m still workin’ on that one.”

 

***

 

 **T** he air conditioning and tiled floor inside the safehouse felt like a dream compared to Harran’s conditions outside. Perfect sprawling-out environment, Zofia figured. Which she was up and ready to do, if it hadn’t been for one small issue which made it difficult to fully relax. “...You’re _sure_ it doesn’t hurt.”

 

“For the last time, Ms. Sirota, it doesn’t.” Astaire insisted anew, sitting on the ground with his back against the wall. “Although it _is_ rather unsightly.”

 

“Yes, I’m sure _that’s_ the biggest problem. Silly me.” Zofia said, rolling her eyes. She opted _not_ to sit next to the walking B-movie poster and instead chose to occupy the sofa adjacent to him. That way she couldn’t see what colour the wall was through the _gaping hole in his actual, literal chest._

 

Astaire let out a relaxed sigh as he reached into one of his tattered pockets.

 

...Wait, how’d he do that if his lungs were acting as a doormat right now?

 

He retrieved what appeared to be a glowing, orange bottle and raised it to his lips.

 

Actually, how had he been talking up to this point at all if he couldn’t breathe?

 

Questions gave rise to more questions like a never-ending matryoshka doll, and soon Zofia found herself fixating on one spot on the floor as her brain suddenly tried to process all the nonsensical things she’d just bore witness to. So focused was she that she missed Astaire gulping down some of the glowing bottle’s contents, as well as the strange, mystical sound which followed.

 

“Aah. That’s better.” He said, smacking his lips. “I’d hate to have appeared before Ms. Kujikawa looking like _that.”_

 

Zofia opened her mouth to ask what part of him could _possibly_ be feeling better after that. But as she laid eyes on him, it suddenly refused to close again. Her jaw hung loose, for she was at a loss.

 

The kid was completely fine. Spotless. Perfect. He had a whole arm. He had a whole neck. He had _a whole new chest where the hole had been._ He wiped the dirt and gore from his face with the remains of his sleeve, only to look back up at her, fresh-faced and curious. “Something the matter, Ms. Sirota?”

 

 _“Something the--?!”_ Zofia sprung off the sofa and began pacing up and down the room, her hands -sans a few fingers- held in front of her chest as they tried to reach into the aether and formulate a sentence that would properly explain _exactly what the hell was the matter with her._

 

Back and forth, back and forth, Astaire’s head followed her. “Shall I interpret that as a yes, or--?”

 

Down. Hand. Collar. Pulled up. Face. Close. _“Tell me what you just did.”_ Zofia said calmly.

 

From the look in her eyes and the tension in her grip, Astaire couldn’t help thinking she wasn’t as calm as she sounded. She was beginning to remind him of someone. “E-Estus Flask.” He managed, bringing the glowing bottle up between him and Zofia, then giving her a nervous smile. “An Undead favourite.”

 

Before he could oppose, Zofia had the bottle out of his hand and firmly in her own. He glanced between it and him and, just to be sure, asked, “So this… can do _that?”_ She drew a circle on his chest with what fingers remained on her other hand. Astaire nodded.

 

Zofia took the Estus Flask in both hands. Drummed her fingers on its smooth glass. Tried drumming with the fingers she _didn’t_ have, too. Didn’t work, obviously.

 

Not _yet._

 

Bottoms up, and she poured the mixture in the bottle down her throat. It tasted--

 

**_OH GOOD GOD._ **

 

Zofia coughed and spluttered, doubled over and heaved. Dropped to her knees.

 

**_IT TASTED LIKE LICKING A BURNING ASHTRAY. IT WAS LIKE FRENCH KISSING A FLAMETHROWER. TO CALL IT RANCID DIDN’T DO IT JUSTICE._ **

 

“Ah yes, be careful of that.” Astaire helpfully added from above. “It’s a bit of an acquired tas-- _PFFT!”_ He wound up spitting as his Estus Flask got pitched at his nose with a _CLUNK._ “...Or zo I’m dold.” He finished, rubbing the red out of the center of his face.

 

 _“Why didn’t you tell me that beforehand?!”_ Zofia fumed. Almost literally, actually. Her face glowed a bright red as tears streamed down her face. God, it felt like eating sixteen vindaloos in a row. Her lips were on the verge of going numb. She had to reach up and touch her face just to confirm they… they were still…

 

Hang on. That was the wrong hand.

 

But it _felt right._

 

Zofia’s rage quelled in an instant as she stopped to examine her fingers. All five of them. On the wrong hand. Or perhaps it wasn’t the wrong hand anymore. It didn’t have any more fingers than the other now.

 

There had to be a word to express this feeling, right? Dictionary was big enough, it seemed within reason. Something to help put together exactly _what_ looking at her fingers made her feel.

 

None came. She sat and examined her hand from every angle. It was perfect. Like nothing had ever happened to it.

 

***

 

“I am _not_ paying fifty bucks for a few rolls of goddamn tape.”

 

“Righto, I’ll do ‘em for sixty then.”

 

Kyle ran a hand down his face and exhaled. Heat-stroked asshole. Puts a hole in the kid, _nearly_ puts a hole in Fi, and then he had the gall to try ripping him off for fucking duct tape? If it weren’t for Brecken, Kyle imagined his patience for Australians would’ve been run much thinner by now. “Know what? Fine. Screw it.” Kyle grumbled as he fished out his wallet. “Gimme the tape and some of those crappy little twigs you call arrows.”

 

His Australian supplier chuckled to himself and fished out a few small bundles of less-than-stellar arrows, whittled from spare planks and headed with the nails. “That’ll be a hundred for the lot, then.”

 

 _“What._ Bullshit.”

 

“That’s for callin’ ‘em crappy.”

 

...Brecken had his work cut out for him. To hell with Australia. “Kangaroo-boxing prick.” Kyle grumbled as he handed the cash over and swiped his paltry earnings off the wide-grinning outdoorsman.

 

“Hooroo, my son! Pleasure doing business with ya’.” He grinned all the more as he flicked through the notes.

 

Kyle flipped him the bird as he walked off, cursing under his breath. Even in the middle of a biter-infested shithole, it seemed people were still determined to find way to aggravate him. Christ, he needed to catch a break.

 

Maybe a little hands-on-work was just what he needed, then. Something to help him chill out. Stay mellow.

 

“Good news and bad news, kid. Good news is I got us enough tape to mummify an elephant.” Kyle began, shouldering the door and slipping inside, twirling one of the rolls of tape around his finger. “Bad news is that it damn near cost me an arm and a…” He trailed off as he turned his attention to Astaire and Zofia.

 

He blinked a few times. Still no holes in his chest. He rubbed his eyes. Still no bites on his throat. “Whaaaaaat the hell.”

 

And then were was Zofia, currently sitting in a daze while enamoured with her own hand. The one that was supposed to be missing fingers. It wasn’t anymore.

 

The duct tape and arrows dropped to the floor. “Holy shit. Hooooooly shit.” Kyle strode over and began staring at her hand as well, his eyes lit up like a child who’d just been told it would be Christmas every day from now on. “I’m not going crazy, am I?! Are you for real?!” He tried and failed to contain his wonder as his attention went to Zofia’s face instead. “How the hell did this happen?!”

 

In lieu of an answer, Zofia’s stare floated up to meet Kyle’s own, face still stunned. Then she poked him. Right on the cheek. Poke. Poke.

 

“Fi.”

 

_Poke poke poke._

 

“Fi, come on. Fill me in.”

 

 _Flick._ Right in his nose.

 

“ _Ow!”_ And with that, Kyle gave up. Clearly Fi was off wandering in wonderland, and it was going to be a while before she crawled herself out of the rabbithole. “Guess I’ll just settle for being happy too. No biggie.” He mumbled.

 

The kid. No way it could’ve been anything else. If there’d been anything in Harran which _could’ve_ grown fingers back, he’d have gone and swiped it already, assuming nobody else had first. It _had_ to have been him.

 

“If you’ve made your preparations, Mr. Crane…” Astaire began, reaching inside his mottled coat and retrieving what seemed to be a small wooden box, placing it on the tabletop before him “Shall we begin with the proceedings?”

 

Kyle decided to give Zofia a little more time to be elated by herself as he cracked his knuckles. “Kid, if you’re the one behind this…” He couldn’t resist grinning like a loon. “...I’ll make you a whole goddamn arsenal outta duct tape if you want.”

 

***

 

It was about halfway through duct-taping the spare, sharpened blades onto the dilapidated Zweihander’s side that Kyle wondered if this mightn’t have been the best idea. “Hey, uh, just gonna throw this out there, but… you ever considered _not_ using something that’s gonna draw half the city to us?”

 

“Whatever do you mean?” Astaire asked, lifting the Zweihander upright and… holy shit, it was _taller than him._ And it looked like it weighed a tonne. Not as heavy as the hammer he’d had, mind you, but that only meant he’d attract everything in a ten-mile radius instead of a twenty-mile one.

 

“You could always lend him something.” Zofia offered, having moved on from staring at her hand to now tensing and wriggling her newly-stocked fingers about. “Might as well put that compulsive hoarding disorder of yours to good use.”

 

“The hell are you calling _compulsive?”_

 

“Are you denying it?”

 

A pause. Kyle frowned lightly. “I’m denying it’s compulsive. Or a disorder.”

 

Rolling her eyes, Zofia grabbed the black sports bag from beside the sleeping bag in the corner -her back atingle at the now-unfamiliar coarseness running through her digits- and slid it across the floor to the guys. “Just lend him _something._ ”

 

With a groan, Kyle complied. He unzipped the bag and began rummaging through the contents as Astaire knelt next to him with interest. Just to be sure he didn’t accidentally hand the hapless sod a grenade out of nowhere, Zofia kept close watch too.

 

A police rifle? Nah. Military rifle? Nope. Rebar club? Certainly not. Another police rifle…

 

...Wait a minute.

 

“Ain’t lookin’ good kid. Lotta noisy stuff in here.” Kyle said, tossing yet another police rifle to the side.

 

Zofia rubbed her eyes and blinked. Yes, it was indeed still a sports bag he was rummaging through. Big enough for a football, some shoes and a kit, likely as not. Certainly _not_ big enough for a rebar club. “Um… Kyle?”

 

“What about this?” Astaire plunged his entire arm into the bag and came back out with an antique saber, giving it a testing stab in the air. “...On second thought, it feels a bit flimsy. Perhaps not.” He mused, tossing it back.

 

“Are you both seriously going to ignore this?” Zofia asked a tad more sternly, as one might when witnessing the laws of space get thoroughly trampled on.

 

“Oh, wait a sec! What about this thing?!” Kyle asked excitedly, reaching _both arms_ into the bag and _pulling out a bloody great battleaxe,_ engraved with ornate wolf heads and nordic runes.

 

He passed it off to Astaire, whose eyes began gleaming excitedly. “Oh, my. Yes, this’ll do. Do you perhaps have anything similar to this lying about?”

 

At last, Zofia decided to put her restored hand to good use and buried her face in it. God, it was like talking to a pair of brick walls. Brick walls which had been soundproofed from every angle.

 

As he set his hand to another weapon, Kyle’s eyebrows rose. A pure-white revolver, lovingly engraved in almost every spot. One which, in hindsight, he couldn’t remember actually picking up from anywhere. “Nah, forget this. Somethin’ tells me this wouldn’t be your kinda--”

 

 _Swipe._ The revolver left his hand and entered Astaire’s as he pilfered it right from under his nose. He opened his mouth to object before he saw the look on the kid’s face. Like a kid seeing Disneyland for the first time, only twice as bright. “This… The soul in this weapon is…” He muttered quietly.

 

In a flash, he’d gripped the revolver properly. In another, he began spinning it around his index finger, turning the gun into a white blur as he tossed it about, caught it, flipped it behind his back, swapped it between hands…

 

Kyle blinked. Knight _and_ cowboy. Hadn’t seen _that_ before.

 

The soul of the Last Wish revolver pulsing through his arm, feeling like the rumbling of earth under a mighty stampede of wild horses, Astaire grinned as he brought his little display to a close, tucking the gun between his waist and his belt.

 

“Oh no, Mr. Crane. I think this is _exactly_ my kind of weapon.” He said, barely containing his excitement.

 

As happy as he seemed, Kyle couldn’t help but wonder if giving the suicidally-driven, seemingly immortal lover boy a gun was the best idea at the end of the day. But now that they were geared out, fixed up and ready to go, he supposed he’d just have to find out in due time.

 

Giving Astaire a confident nod and offering Zofia a hand up from the sofa, he led the charge towards the front door of the safehouse.

 

Time to go knock on Old Town’s door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy, here we go again. 
> 
> Estus Flask - An Undead favourite! The Estus Flask is the player character's main source of healing in the Dark Souls games. No matter what happens to you, be it getting hammered into the ground by a massive demon or getting outright impaled and shocked with electricity, an Estus Flask will heal you right up! It seems only right for it to heal old wounds too.  
> You refill the flask from 'bonfires', and they glow with an orange hue, so I just interpreted it to be basically fire in a bottle. Hence why Zofia nearly coughs up a lung after sipping some.  
> Given how much of it the average Dark Souls character chugs, Astaire's simply grown to ignore the taste altogether. 
> 
> Zweihander - The best goddamn weapon in Souls history. Period. 
> 
> Kyle's bag - A little joke about the storage system in Dying Light, which is accessed through a little sports bag at safehouses. Which allows you to store infinite amounts of goddamn anything inside it. Astaire has something similar, which is also meant to be poking fun at how you seemingly pull massive weapons out of your armpit in Dark Souls. 
> 
> Axe and Revolver - DLC weapons! Specifically the Fenris Axe and the Last Wish revolver. Why these in particular? Well...
> 
> Weapon Souls - Again, something of a jab at one of Dark Souls' mechanics. Namely, the ability for the MC to mimic the moves of certain enemies by wielding their weapons. Which sounds fine until you start doing some anime-ass acrobatic nonsense that no normal human-like entity could do. I personally explain this as 'People with powerful souls transfer their abilities to their weapons' - which is helped by the fact that you literally use souls to forge some of them.  
> Seeing as Fenris and the Last Wish have special abilities and are pretty exceptional compared to normal weapons, I didn't think it too unlikely that they had SOMETHING special kicking about within them for giggles.


End file.
